A Friendship Forged
by Rebell
Summary: Some friendships take far longer to forge than a day. That of Legolas and Aragorn is one such case. A series of oneshots, told by Legolas to the Fellowship, relate just how the pair became such close friends. And it was far more difficult than you'd think
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Love them I do, but unfortunately, it is not to be. The lawyers have armed themselves with Uruk-hai, and since I regularly fall out of my chair when frightened, I don't stand a chance.

**AN: **All hail! Rebell's expanded to include the entire Fellowship! One-shot's abound! The style of this story will be mainly oneshots all fitting together over a larger picture. This should mean (I stress the word 'should') that the number of cliffhangers will be kept to a minimum. I hope that's satisfactory to all. Though, I can't really promise anything, because, as certain people have pointed out, I am evil. 

Possibly the most important thing I have to say here, is that this fic is a mesh of book-verse and movie-verse, with slight allusions to popular belief here on the site. I've tried to keep things as canon to the books as possible, but some certain things just work better for the sake of the fic if they were tweaked. More information is at the end of the chapter! Enough with the long AN. Onward!

----

Samwise Gamgee had been acting awfully strange during the past three days. Frodo had noticed, despite the gardener's protest that all was well, and his master should be eating more and paying attention to his own welfare. The dark-haired hobbit had made a conscious effort after that to pay more attention to Sam, though his friend was now trying to act as if nothing was wrong. Sam was many things, but he was not a deceiver and so Frodo saw right through him.

On that third day, Frodo had approached Merry and Pippin and before he could open his mouth, they had begun to ask questions about what was ailing Sam. They conversed amongst themselves for near to fifteen minutes before consecutively deciding that none of them had a notion as to what was going on. Now burning with curiosity, Frodo went to Aragorn, closely followed by his younger cousins.

The ranger listened to the hobbits' concerns about their friend calmly, taking out his weapons and laying them side by side upon an oil cloth for inspection. "What are his symptoms?" he asked, gray eyes scanning the length of his knife for any imperfections.

Frodo's brow creased at the cool tone of the query. He could not help but feel that Strider was being far too casual about the whole thing. Didn't he care about Sam's health? "He is very distant, like he cannot focus on anything. Is that some sign that something is wrong? We only left Rivendell three days ago." He paused, considering. "He's been like this ever since we started out, as a matter of fact."

Aragorn turned to regard the hobbit in question. Sam was currently starting a fire, but his hands often slowed as he gazed out into the distance. He had been at the task since Frodo had gone to converse with Merry and Pippin and he had yet to reach for his fire-starter.

The Dunedain's gaze flicked about, following Sam's own, and was hardly surprised to find that it rested on Legolas Greenleaf. He was well-aware of the halfling's fascination with the fair beings. It did not amaze him that Legolas would be the source of Sam's distance of late.

The woodelf was perhaps a hundred feet away from the camp, staring out into the gathering darkness. The evening twilight made him appear ethereal, his pale features standing out in the dusk. He had made a point of staying well away from the group, and in fact, had not spent more than forty minutes with them out of the past seventy-two hours. He volunteered for all watches, and even when Aragorn refused, insisting that he rest, he did so in a tree, cradled in its branches. To any who did not know his usual outgoing personality, it would seem as though he was unapproachable.

To Sam, who had gotten used to talking a little with elves during their time in Rivendell, Legolas's seemingly deferential behavior both confused and entranced him. He obviously wished to talk to the wood-elf, to engage in a conversation and to ask questions. _But twas difficult to do so when the flighty creature refused to come near anyone!_ Aragorn thought ruefully.

He looked back at the hobbits, who were watching him expectantly. He clapped Frodo gently on the shoulder and said, "Fear not little ones. I know what ails him." He glanced again at Legolas. "And I intend to have a little talk with it." He stood, sheathed his knife, and made his way over to his old friend, leaving behind three very confused halflings.

He passed Boromir and Gimli on his way, inwardly smiling as he heard their conversation of which drink was better, dwarven ale, or Gondorian beer.

Legolas turned briefly as the ranger came up beside him. "Hello, Aragorn."

"_Mellon-nin_." Aragorn replied. "I need to speak with you."

"It seems that you are already doing so."

Aragorn chuckled softly. "We would enjoy such wit around the campfire. Why don't you come and have dinner with us?" Legolas's face stiffened and he looked back out into the wilderness. Aragorn took the response as a quiet but resounding 'no'. "Why have you been so quiet, my friend? We will all be together for a very long time. It's the least you could do to try and make some friends."

The wood-elf took several steps forward, stopped with a sigh and turned back to face his friend. "Aragorn, I do not think... I think that that is not a good idea."

"Why not? If you are worried about not fitting in because of your... elfish-ness," Legolas smiled at that, "you are sadly mistaken. You need not worry about what they will think of you. In five minutes you will have them all eating out of your hand. Samwise would do so now, if you would but talk to him."

The wood-elf shot a glance back at the camp and met Sam's gaze for an instant before the hobbit blushed furiously and lowered his head, finally getting a spark to kindle. Aragorn continued, sensing that he was very close. "You could talk with Boromir of battle strategies, share stories of Mirkwood with the hobbits... Mithrandir you know fairly well, and as for Gimli..." Legolas's eyes flashed. "You could simply ignore him." Aragorn finished lamely.

"Aragorn, you know all too well how difficult it can be to forge friendships. Our own is proof of that."

The ranger turned, began to make his way back to the camp. He paused and said softly, "Elrond chose you to come for a reason Legolas. Your skills as a scout and warrior will be needed before the end of our journey, but you are also one who can keep our spirits lifted. Do not let that skill of yours go to waste." He continued on, leaving Legolas behind to think on that last comment.

--

Later that night, the Fellowship gathered around the fire to receive their dinner from Sam, who was also the cook that night. They had just seated themselves when Legolas appeared out of the gloom, quiet as a cat and startling them all, save perhaps for the Maiar, and Aragorn, who smiled into his soup, pleased that Legolas had chosen to make an appearance.

The elf sat gingerly next to the ranger, bowl in hand, and reached for the pot of soup and the ladle, aware of the stares he was receiving. Sam jumped up and snatched the ladle first, surprising the elf and causing Aragorn to stifle a snicker.

"Here Mr. Legolas sir, I'll get that for you."

Legolas reached out and gently took the ladle from Sam. He said, "Please don't trouble yourself, Master Samwise. You've cooked it, you need not serve it." It was the first time they had heard him speak since the Council, nearly two months before.

Sam sat back, blushing furiously at being addressed as Master Samwise. He watched as Legolas ladled soup into his bowl and leaned back into his place by Aragorn.

Supper progressed quietly after that, the hobbits watching Legolas as he ate, Gimli shooting glares in the elf's general direction, Boromir exchanging glances with Aragorn (one of them confused, the other reassuring), and Gandalf puffing away on his pipe.

Legolas remained cool and calm, though on the inside, he was cursing Aragorn. Why had he agreed to this? He should have stayed outside the camp, should have remained distant--

Just as he was about to stand and retreat, one of the halflings whispered something to the other. Peregrin to Meriadoc, if he was not mistaken, and the whisper wasn't meant to be heard. But his sharp ears picked it up anyway, would have even if everyone else had been talking.

"Do you suppose he knows everyone else's name?"

Merry looked back in surprise and leaned in to whisper, "Pip, I'm sure he does. Even elves are required to know the names of the people they are sent on a quest with."

Pippin looked down at the ground, blushing. "I just wondered."

The elf fought to hide a smile.

Pippin regarded Legolas once more, the elf apparently fixated on his meal. He leaned in once more and said wistfully, "I bet he knows a lot of stories."

Merry's eyes widened. "Pippin, you're not going to ask for one, are you? How many can he possibly know? He looks younger than we are!"

The youngest hobbit shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I'm bored!" he hissed back. "Besides Merry, he probably knows lots of stories of the old world, and I'm so bored I'd even pay attention to a story about the creation of Middle Earth!"

Legolas turned to face them then, and the whisperers had the grace to look both ashamed and nervous. "You would not wish to hear about the world's creation, _nin tithen perrianath._ While it is fascinating to some, I find that many prefer stories of things that they better understand."

Pippin's ears pricked up at that, sensing that if he played it right, he would get a story after all. "What do you mean by that, Mr. Legolas?"

"Just Legolas, if you please. I do not care much for formalities."

"But you called Sam 'Master Samwise'," Merry said curiously. "If you care not for formalities, then why do you refer to others as such?"

"Well," Legolas replied slowly, a bit taken aback by Merry's questioning. "It is my nature to do so, as I was raised to show respect and courtesy to others. I simply dislike being called by formal titles. I receive enough of that treatment at home."

Merry nodded thoughtfully. "You're from Mirkwood, are you not?" At Legolas's nod, he asked, "You know the king then?"

But his question was over-rode by Pippin's clear voice, "Could you tell us a story of the spiders? I hear they're dreadfully large."

Legolas turned his head from one to the other, and was forced to twist further to regard Frodo as the ringbearer chimed in with, "Of course they're large, Pip! Don't you remember Bilbo and his stories about those very spiders?"

Sam's low addition to the suddenly general discussion about Mirkwood and the spiders was simply, "A story sounds right nice. We could all have a little smoke while we listen."

Legolas raised his hands for silence, but not before he heard Boromir's deep rumble of agreement, caught Aragorn's go-ahead nod, and noted with some annoyance Gimli's grumbles of prancey elvish stories. Gandalf seemed immune to the whole thing, watching with amused grey eyes from behind his cloud of pipe-smoke.

"Very well. A story it shall be. But first, I must answer a question." He turned to Merry, pinning the young hobbit with his deep stare. "I do indeed know the king. He and I have had many disagreements over the past years. The last resulted in my coming to Rivendell to bear the news of Gollum's escape."

"Did he exile you?" Pippin asked, his own blue eyes wide. "Why did you and the king have so many arguments?"

Legolas shot Aragorn a swift look. How could it have escaped the hobbit's attention that he was Thranduil's son? Even Gimli was aware of the fact, and Gimli was... well, a dwarf! He had a vague notion that he knew though. His royal title was never fully mentioned, as most of the council was composed of elves who knew him well, and dwarves who would likely take offense (Gloin in particular) if they knew who's son was present. He had simply introduced himself as Legolas of the wood-land realm, bearing a message from his king.

He supposed that if one was not familiar with the looks of the royal family, it would be very easy to assume he was only a noble's son, or something to that effect. He looked around at the attentive faces of the hobbits, and couldn't help but smile.

His entire face softened as he did so. It was a first for the hobbits; they had never seen the wood-elf crack a smile. He had remained aloof, fine features cool and distant. Now those features were lit by his smile, and warmth flooded into his eyes, making him appear a different person entirely. This was someone you could _talk _to.

Legolas received a shrug from the ranger, and knew that no help would be forthcoming. That infernal man was going to leave him to the mercy of the little hobbits and their questions. _Ah well, it is probably all his idea for me to 'integrate' myself into 'the Fellowship'. Dratted human._ He was severely tempted to pick up the soup pot and dump what was left over the ranger's head, but suspected that it would be more trouble than it was worth.

Instead he considered his answer and went for the truth. "King Thranduil may be stern, and he may have a fiery temper, but even he would not exile his own son."

The hobbits gasped, and then all began speaking at once. Once more, Legolas found himself besieged by questions. Even Frodo, by far the most reserved, was asking whether or not Legolas had seen Bilbo during the Five Armies War, and how growing up inside the palace had been.

"_Tithen perrianath... _how am I to answer one question if there are three more being asked at the same time? And besides... I thought that you all wished to hear a story?" At the eager nods, he turned to Pippin, who was waiting with bated breath. "Since you brought it up Master Peregrin, it seems only fair that you decide what kind you would like to hear. I do indeed know many of the old stories though I appear young by your standards." Merry turned a little red at that, but Legolas did not press the matter. "Romance, battles, adventures, tragedies... I know many of each. What would you like to hear?"

Pippin thoughtfully twirled a curly lock of hair around his finger. "I would like to hear a story about you, Legolas. Something from when you were younger, or maybe an adventure you had. Whatever springs first to mind."

The elf was silent for a moment, during which the company took the opportunity to ready their pipes. Aragorn watched the elf carefully, wondering what kind of story Legolas would choose to tell. His friend certainly had a number of tales, be they silly, serious, fun, or frightening. He was fairly certain that the tale wouldn't be too fearsome, but he also knew his friend would not edit anything out of a story, preferring to stick to the unbridled truth. With the occasional clever embellishment, of course.

Legolas smiled again, and settled against a tree trunk. "I shall tell you about an adventure that took place almost seventy years ago."

The hobbits exchanged a look. Legolas did not look much older than _twenty_ now, let alone older than seventy, even in hobbit reckoning. Not surprisingly, it was Pippin who asked, "How old are you?" He studied the elf's face carefully. "You can't be more than a hundred."

"I shall never begin the story if I am asked more questions," Legolas scolded, but the twinkle in his eyes belied the joke. "Since I am well into my twelfth century, I would say that it is definitely possible for me to be over one hundred."

The hobbits were silent, trying to process this new information. Legolas took advantage of the quiet to begin his tale. "Sixty-seven years ago, we would most probably not be having this conversation. I was not quite so willing to speak to the other races, particularly that of Men. I will tell you how that changed…"

----

**AN: **And so it begins.

_Now then:_ as you hopefully picked up on, this fic takes place during the earliest days of the journey of the Fellowship. According to reliable sources, it took the group approximately nineteen days to journey from Rivendell to Moria, including their time on Caradhras. This is their third night out, and if Legolas tells a story every night until Moria (or even going slightly into Moria), that should make for about sixteen chapters, more if I decide to split a story up if it's particularly long.

One final note: In the book, it is only briefly mentioned that Legolas is Thranduil's son, something pointed out to Frodo by Elrond when the hobbit is introduced to the Council. My fellow fanatics will know that this is never mentioned in the movies, and even while being introduced to Eomer, it was 'Legolas, of the woodland realm'. I can't tell you how many times I had to explain to people who hadn't read the books why Legolas was wearing a silver circlet at the end of Return of the King. For story purposes, this fic will follow the movie in that the hobbits and Boromir were unaware of our favorite elf's royal heritage until revealed. If there are any further questions, feel free to ask in a review (cough_hint_cough) or a PM!


	2. Night One

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters or the places… or the orcs… sigghhh… no, not the _lembas _either… (sobs) That last one always gets me.

**AN: **Well, I meant to get this up sooner, I really did. But despite graduating from high school, preparing for college, and finishing work on an original novel, there really is no excuse for the length of time it took to get this ready… except for sheer laziness. Then today I looked at myself in the mirror, and after mourning the appearance of all my summer freckles, I told myself that I would not sleep until I updated one of my stories here on the F-net.

And as I rather like my bed and my dreams (though I function without them), I present to you a new chapter. Other notes will be, as always, at the end. Charge!

----

Deep within the forest of Mirkwood, the captain of an elven patrol called for a halt in a deserted clearing for their noonday rest. There were twelve of the Firstborn altogether, a deadly force despite their slender forms and fair faces. Even an unqualified, casual observer would have been able to see this: it showed in the way they held themselves, poised and ready even in repose. It was obvious that their crafted weapons were never far from those slim hands. They laughed and spoke calmly with each other, but there was never any doubt that this group could instantly be ready to deal out a great deal of woe within a second's notice.

Unlike many captains, the leader of this particular patrol chatted amiably with anyone who would listen, and the pleasant rolling trembles of Sindarin echoed through the trees. The captain flitted from one elf to another, taking his time and including everyone in his silly chatter. His comrades responded to his laughter and gentle cajoling well, offering up interesting tidbits in return.

Although every warrior of Mirkwood enjoyed taking their turns with this particular patrol leader, some of the other captains and older elves on the Council that advised King Thranduil did not approve of his methods. They thought of him as young and idealistic, and while this was true, there was no denying the excellent results. Many of the warriors the young elf took outside the gates were far older than he, and yet their trust in him was so complete that they would do anything he asked of them. They enjoyed going out with this young elf, whose unique personality made them laugh and kept their wits sharp. Neither the Council members nor the elder captains could really find anything at fault with the way the young captain handled his 'charges'.

Also, the captain in question happened to be none other than Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood. And none dared to voice an ill-founded complaint to the king.

Legolas surveyed his elven comrades while he nibbled at a bit of _lembas_. He had spoken with every one of them before climbing a tree and settling on one of the lower branches to eat his lunch. All had favored him with a smile, and some had laughed out loud at his pointless questions. Legolas smiled and leaned against the trunk of the tree. He genuinely enjoyed these patrols, despite the imminent dangers that the woods concealed. He was young enough to still be amazed at many of the things he found in these woods, from the gnarled trees bent and twisted with age, to the simple beauty of sunlight spangling across the swift waters of a creek. He loved the company of the warriors, many of whom were his friends. And he was genuinely happy to be able to see all these sights and be around elves whose company he enjoyed while helping to protect his home.

Oh, he didn't deceive himself, to be sure. He was very aware of his position. It sometimes made his nerves tingle to realize that he was solely responsible for making snap decisions that would result in life or death for the warriors he led. If one of them died because of a wrong decision on his part, he knew that the guilt would haunt him for the rest of his life. Thankfully, such a thing had not occurred, and if the Valar favoured him, it never would. He told no one of the secret doubts he harboured. He had been brought up to always appear in control of a situation. Of course, it was not always possible, especially in his elfling days in which he was embarrassingly (but rather funnily in retrospect) clumsy. But it had grown to be second nature to him over the years. He had found that perfect balance where he could retain his casual, laughing personality and be authoritative at the same time.

Legolas reached for his canteen, intending to wash down the _lembas_ and get started on the hike back to the palace. No matter how much he enjoyed these 'treks', and even the thrill of danger that sometimes accompanied such tasks, what he was _really _looking forward to was a nice hot bath.

As soon as the canteen touched his lips, the peaceful silence of the forest was shattered by a shriek of pain. Legolas's hand jerked in surprise, spilling water all over him. The warriors came to their feet instantly, reaching for their weapons. Their keen ears picked up the sound of orcan cheering. The prince darted nimbly along the length of the branch and came to a halt above the heads of the elves on the ground. The shriek came again, and his face hardened. "That is no elf. That is the cry of a man."

A pause while the warriors looked at each other in amazement and apprehension. What a man was doing in the depths of Mirkwood was beyond any of them. The nearest village of men was leagues away. Perhaps the orcs had raided a village and taken prisoners. None could tell, and speculation would be time-consuming and pointless. The real question was what their captain would do. While some wood-elves tolerated the race of men, it was a well-known fact that Thranduil despised them and had passed his hatred of them on to his son.

Legolas kept his face calm as his mind raced. He loathed the idea of just walking away, in fact would never do so. That course of action would leave an entire party of orcs in the forest, foul creatures who could not be allowed to roam so near to the elves' home. But he had no intention of rushing in to save the man either. That would put his comrades in danger, all for the sake of a Secondborn. Unthinkable. He chewed on the inside of his lip, aware that the warriors were patiently awaiting his orders.

"Into the trees," he said finally. "We will go and learn what we may. Fan out around them and have your weapons ready. We wait until they have finished with the man to make our move."

----

The son of Thranduil crouched in the leafy branches of a large oak, bow in hand, arrow notched. His gaze was dancing from the scene below him to the positions of his warriors at various points around the clearing. But even as he assured himself that the elves were ready to act at a second's notice, his eyes were continually drawn more and more to the human in the clearing.

Legolas had never actually seen a man before. When he was much younger, he and his father had gone hunting near the northern edge of the forest and had nearly run into a group of Secondborn merchants before Thranduil had heard the voices. He had not allowed his son to go any closer, but he had let the youngling listen to the conversation so that perhaps in a later situation, Legolas would be able to tell the difference. The little elf had listened with wide eyes, for the voices of men seemed rough and hard to ears accustomed to the light melodic sound of elven speech. As a result, he had always imagined men as being rather ugly creatures, and Thranduil had done little to dispute the prince's beliefs.

But looking at the man in the clearing, Legolas was surprised at the similarities between the two races. The man's shoulder-length dark hair was pulled back, revealing rounded ears. He was built more sturdily than an elf, though he looked rather gaunt, perhaps not having eaten anything in the last several days. As a matter of fact, Legolas thought, unconsciously wrinkling his nose in distaste, he looked as if he had not bathed in several days either. On the whole, the only real differences that Legolas could see physically were that elves had finer bone structure and more of an ethereal appearance. And a better grasp of personal hygiene.

There was something else that bothered him as well. It was often difficult to tell age with the elves, as one who looked not older than thirty years could be into their third millennia of life. He knew it was not so with the Secondborn, who aged and died often before their first century. The man in the clearing looked to be young even by those standards. He did not think that the human had even reached his second decade, barely older than a boy.

The blonde elf watched as the young man was forced down onto his knees before the leader of the orcs. His grasp of the Westron language was tentative at best, and he had never had the chance to use it other than with the tutor who had taught it to him. So, despite his excellent hearing, he couldn't understand much more than a few words at a time. It seemed that the orcs had come upon some sort of tribe or group of men and had attacked, as orcs so often would. The foul beings had sorely underestimated the power of their targets (as usual) and had come away with heavy losses. How a group of such bumbling orcs had managed to capture one of the men baffled the prince. His disdain of the humans grew; how could they have let one of their kin be captured if they had been so much more powerful than the orcs? Much less one so young. The young were to be protected, and they hadn't even been able to do so.

The orc removed a whip from its belt and shook it out. The man struggled desperately to get loose from his guards, but the creatures merely laughed and tightened their grip. Legolas watched impassively as the orc made quick use of the whip. The man stayed admirably silent for the first few lashes, though his posture and face clearly expressed his pain. But of course, as the seconds ticked by, the pain became too much for anyone to hold in. He yelled, and Legolas shivered involuntarily. Stripped of the harsher syllables of speech, the cry could very well have emanated from an elf.

The prince's father had no love for men at all, and he had instilled this hostility into his son. Legolas could barely remember his mother, who had been killed by a small forest fire when he was very young. As his father began to take on the full responsibilities of raising his small (and impressionable) offspring, he had made no effort to hide his feelings for the Secondborn. And so Legolas, who at that point wanted to be just like his father, had learned to imitate how the king spoke of the younger race. This continued throughout his childhood, and by the time he was fully grown and had come of age, Legolas had fully forged his opinion of men.

And yet, for all his misgivings about that race, Legolas found himself moved by that harsh cry of pain.

He stilled himself and gripped his bow tighter. All of his warriors were most likely stealing glances at him, waiting for the signal. He would not let them see that he was feeling… what was he feeling? Sorrow that the man was being tortured? Indecision about his next move? No, he could not let them see. It went against what he believed in, it showed that he was not in control of the situation. He schooled his face into a look of calm patience. They would wait.

----

Time passed, and still, the elves waited amongst the trees. Legolas was completely unaware of the penetrating gazes of his patrol. They had long-since ceased to watch the clearing and the torture of the young man. They no longer needed to see the scene to know exactly when the orcs used the whip, or landed a blow on the Secondborn with their fists or feet. Their leader, eyes riveted to the clearing, unconsciously flinched every time the man was struck. The warriors tightened their grips on their own weapons, each wondering what was going through their prince's head.

Legolas was determined to keep to the vague plan that he had told his patrol before they had arrived. They were to wait until the orcs had finished with the man to make their move. But he had expected the man to be killed quickly. He had forgotten that the orcs were cruel enough to torture someone for hours, days, sometimes even weeks before they delivered the death blow. He mentally berated himself: how could he have assumed that the orcs would kill the man right away? He did not want to sit here for hours watching the human be tortured.

He did not think that he could stand it that long.

Maybe, if Legolas had had a terrible wrong done to him by men, he wouldn't have felt the way he did. Maybe, if he had a true reason to hate the Secondborn, he would have been able to watch coldly as the orcs beat the man to death. He was not heartless, no, not by any means. His instinct was screaming at him, screaming for him to go and help this man. He actually shifted to stand, but then his mind caught up. Would he really choose to endanger his patrol over a human? Would the Council think his actions foolish and restrain him from leading more patrols? And perhaps most of all, what would Thranduil think? What would the king do if he discovered that his son had saved a human?

The whip cracked and at the man's sharp yelp, Legolas's shoulders stiffened. His instinct –his _heart_- was telling him to save this man. He could not sit and watch as the man was tortured for no reason other than for the amusement of orcs! But his mind, his practical side, and hundred of years of looking up to his father was working against him. Legolas notched his arrow and raised the bow to aim. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his patrol watching him intently, hands tight on their weapons. He knew that they would support him no matter what he chose to do.

That trust scared him.

His hands began to tremble. To shoot now would mean showing that he was not entirely in control of the situation. It would mean that centuries of following in his father's beliefs would be wasted. It would mean… that a young life would be saved. It would mean that he could look at himself later, knowing that he was able to do something. It would mean that he had followed his instincts and his heart. He could live with that.

The orc captain raised the whip in preparation for a stinging lash. In a flash, Legolas's hands steadied and he and he loosed his arrow. It flew straight and true, landing squarely between the orc's wide-set eyes. He had another arrow notched and fired by the time the orc hit the ground. Pandemonium broke loose in the small clearing as the orcs scrambled to discover where the arrows had come from. They never found out. Legolas's warriors dropped from the trees, swords and knives out and flashing before they even hit the ground.

Legolas fired one last arrow before slinging his bow over his shoulder and leaping down himself. He would not force his comrades to fight hand-to-hand while he sat up in the tree. In seconds, his knives grew black with orc blood.

The takeover of the clearing was quick and brutal. Legolas gazed around the clearing, sharp eyes taking in the shape of the patrol. To his vast relief, not a one was seriously injured. His shoulder's drooped as he let out a sigh of relief. His gamble had paid off.

He knelt by the man's side and hesitantly touched his shoulder. "Are you…" he paused, searching for the Westron words. "Are you well? Your name?"

The young man straightened painfully and locked eyes with the prince. His grey eyes were filled with gratitude as he said, "I will be fine. I am called Estel."

----

"And that," Legolas said to the group, "that is how Aragorn and I met."

There was a long silence during which the elf took time to gauge the reactions of those around him. Aragorn was quiet, a reflective look in his grey eyes: Legolas had never before divulged his reasoning for helping him those many years ago. The pipesmoke wreathed and curled all about the other members of the Fellowship, and he was hard pressed to read their expressions. In fact, it was a great effort of will not to move well out of the way of the sickly sweet cloud.

Pippin frowned, absently chewing on an apple slice. "But I want to know more!" he said plaintively. "Did you get in trouble for helping Strider, Legolas? What did your father say? How did it all come out?"

"It all came out rather well, I believe. We did the best we could for Aragorn's injuries and I sent half of my patrol to escort him back to the forest's boundaries. He was met there by a group of frantic Noldor elves and I am told that he was suitably berated by them for wandering off. My father and the Council were relatively unconcerned by my actions, though I suspect the latter was only convinced because the orcs had been dealt with and we did not garner any casualties. My father was willing to let me off with only a stern talking to." He smiled upon remembrance, eyes softening. "I believe that he was secretly proud of me, though I never could get him to admit to it."

"I'm sure he was," Aragorn assured him. "I believe I came off the worse for that encounter. I got into quite the amount of trouble for wandering away from my foster brothers. I'd ended up with a caravan of merchants when the orcs attacked. I consider myself very lucky that Legolas and his companions acted when they did." His eyes glinted. "Even if they could have acted before."

"My adar has never really warmed up to Aragorn, even all these years later." Legolas set an arm across his friend's shoulders. "But I surely am glad that I decided to help that unwashed, smelly human that we found in the woods. Upbringing isn't always everything, you know."

"Hah! Your royal upbringing certainly didn't show several years ago when you stuffed deer droppings into my favorite pipe!" Aragorn sniffed upon unpleasant remembrance, but the elf only looked serene and innocent, though even he could not refrain from a smile as the hobbits shouted with laughter.

----

**AN: **And there we have it! We are now well and truly off on our adventure! Show of hands, who's excited? :-D I know I am: it feels lovely to be back writing here! Not only this, but I also have many many ideas for other fandoms, so I'm going to be branching out all over the place! Fabulous, no? Rebell is taking over the web!

But I wouldn't be doing it without all of you fine folks urging me on. That being said, thank you to those who reviewed the first chapter: **Lywhn, fangirl29, CAH, Firefly-Maj, Mel, invisigoth3, Templa Otmena, Aggie2011, White Wolf1, tmelange, rivendellelve, PlumaLibera, Taraisilwen, ArodieltheElfofRohan, **and **crazyroninchic. **

You guys are all fabulous, and since I think that this chapter topic came out of nowhere (I had an epiphany about two minutes before posting and had to subsequently rearrange much of the content, not to mention some tiny details in the previous chapter), I hope very much that I didn't disappoint!


End file.
